November skeletons itself
into the pumpkin remains
of ghost walkers, and raises
its bare limbs to summon
thanksgiving from its cave
in the apple pie crumble.
Pens, poets, and prophets
kneel among visions searching
for candles that still have enough wick
to support a match strike of wisdom.
Spirits of resurrection cackle beneath thin ice.
©Susie Clevenger 2017
©Susie Clevenger 2017
